Nevermore
by glolinde
Summary: "At no future time; never again: 'I order you gone, nevermore to return.'" What's dead should stay dead. Or should it? When Mariah is given a second chance at life, what will she do? What decisions will she make? More importantly, will she remember what happened before her death? Rated M for language, suggestive situations, blood, and death.
1. Chapter One

_July 2, 2012_

_I don't see the point of it. Any of it. Everyday it's the same damn thing: _

_Wake up. _

_Go to work. _

_Get shit done at work. _

_Come home. _

_Eat. _

_Watch the television. _

_Go to bed. **Alone**. _

_Every single fucking day. It's just pointless. All of it. _

_I'm done. _

_I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I just want it to be over with. I just want it all to stop. The pain. The constant pain... I can't take it anymore. I hurt all the time. Every single aspect of me hurts. I can't go a day without some kind of pain. If I'm not hurting physically, I am dying emotionally. I can't take it. It's killing me slowly. _

_What have I become? What kind of life have I had? Do I have anyone that will miss me if I'm gone? The questions run through my head every single fucking day. It's tiring. It's a weight I can't get rid of. It's crushing my chest day in and day out. Nothing helps. I just can't. I can't do it anymore. _

_I'm sorry. I just can't. I'm sorry. Don't blame yourself. It's my fault. All of it. You are perfect just the way you are. I'm the sin. Not you. _

_I'm sorry..._

After she wrote the letter, Mariah sealed the envelope and set it on the corner of her desk. This was the perfect time to do it. She was by herself, alone... no one was around. The campus had cleared out and there wasn't a single soul around to hear the gunshot. After all, why shouldn't she? She had no life, no future, no one to miss her if she was gone.

Completely and utterly alone.

_Fuck it, _Mariah said to herself as she picked up the handgun. It took quite a bit of effort to sneak this gun into her dorm. Might as well follow through with it.

All that Mariah could think was how pointless life was. How pointless _everything_ was. Sure, she was a fantastic student at Stanford. One of her professors even told her that Mariah would be the best nurse in the country if she kept to it. And, of course, the heart and gut wrenching depression would go away. Eventually.

But, why? Why continue? There's no point. More importantly, Mariah didn't want to go on. She wanted to meet the oblivion that she would meet. The complete and total _nothingness_.

_On the count of three... _

She tightened her hand around the gun and started to slowly raise it. Her breathing quickened, heart beat skipped. This was it. This was it. The end of it all. The end of the suffering. The end of her existence.

_One..._

Placing her finger on the trigger, Mariah closed her eyes. She imagined how nice it would be to feel nothing. How nice it would be to be no more. To experience life nevermore.

_Two..._

It was at her temple now. The object that was going to grant her life nevermore was brushing sweet kisses across her head. It was comforting, in an odd sort of way. Almost like this object was the only thing that understood. Almost like it was saying, "Don't worry. I understand. I know what you are feeling. I'll be here with you. You will be okay."

This made her smile. For the first time in decades, Mariah felt happiness. She felt peace. The tears stopped flowing and Mariah knew that this was the right decision. This was _right_.

_Three._

The gunshot screamed across campus. Everyone that was around heard it and everyone screamed. No one knew what was going on, but there were a few that knew one thing: A single shot never means anything good. And, this was as far from good as you could get.

_Mariah Gwyneth Murrey_

_December 14, 1988 – July 2, 2012_

_Even though you are gone, you will never be forgotten_

_Psalms 27:4_


	2. Chapter Two

July 17, 2012

Gainsburg, Iowa

Some Run Down Motel

If Sam had to list the one thing that he admired most about his brother, Dean, it was the fact that the Dean was one of the most stubborn fools Sam had ever met (if not the most stubborn). As much as the youngest Winchester hated to admit it, he admired that fact about his brother. Even after everything he had been through, Dean kept pushing on. Above all else, the oldest Winchester had a certain... grace about him. Sure, picturing grace in conjunction with Dean Winchester would make even the most hard-faced angel laugh (which that happened more than once, ie Castiel), but that is the only word that can accurately describe Dean.

"Son of a bitch!" Dean said through a yell, almost by que.

_That, and dimwitted._

Sam chuckled to himself and looked over his laptop. "What did you do this time?"

"Oh, nothing," Dean huffed as he sucked on his finger. "Just slammed my finger in the fucking door. Damn, that freaking hurts!"

Sam cocked his head to the side and held back a laugh. "You are cussing and swearing up a storm because of your _finger_?"

Dean paused, looked at Sam for a moment before he said, "Yeah, well when you put it like that..."

_Yeah, gracefully ungraceful, _Sam thought to himself as he went back to his laptop.

The oldest Winchester took a look at his brother before he chuckled and sighed. It had been nearly four weeks since Castiel "vanquished" the Lucifer in Sam's mind. As the days went by, Dean was starting to see the brother that he thought was lost forever. Sure, Sam isn't innocent like he was in his Stanford days. However, that undeniable Sam Winchester glimmer was back in his eyes. That hopeful look that made Dean smile from ear to ear _and_ sick to his stomach at the same time. It was nice to see that again.

But, _Cass_...

Dean tries to not think about it. He tries to not think about the sacrifice that Castiel made for Sam. However, every now and then, that haunting thought comes to the surface of Dean's consciousness. And, every time that the thoughts do come, the oldest Winchester doesn't know what to do. Like now, when Sam is reading the obits trying to find a case. Or, when Sam brings Dean his favorite kind of coffee from Starbucks. Or when Sam scolds Dean about looking at the latest edition to Japanese porn (which he does just to get a rise out of Sam. Makes Dean nearly die of laughter every time).

None of it would be possible if it wasn't for Castiel. And Dean is forever grateful.

"This is odd," Sam said as narrowed his eyes at his laptop.

"Huh?"

Sam looked at Dean and turned his laptop towards his brother. "This. I was just going over the obits and there hasn't been a single death in two weeks."

Dean looked at the laptop and frowned slightly. "Yeah, that is weird. But, so? Ya know, it isn't unheard of."

"True," Sam said after he scoffed. "But, take a look as to where I am reading."

Glancing over the article that Sam was reading, Dean stopped when he found the city's name. "San Francisco..."

"More specifically, Stanford," Sam said. "There hasn't been a single death located within 50_ miles_ of Stanford University. Not since a death that happened two weeks ago, on July 2."

"Hm..." Dean said thoughtfully. That _is_ weird, especially in San Francisco. Usually, in a city such as San Francisco, you can't go a day without some sort of death either by natural causes or crime related. Dean's mind instantly went back to a case that happened a few years prior, and his stomach dropped.

"You don't think..."

"That Death has taken a holiday? Again?" Sam asked as he shrugged. "It's possible. I'm not sure though. The only thing I am sure of is that this is weird, even by our standards."

"Great," Dean said through a groan. "I freaking hate reapers."

Sam chuckled before he said, "The last death was one that was reported to have happened on Stanford's campus. One of their students –"

Sam paused and his breath caught in his throat. Dean could instantly tell that what he was going to hear next was something he wouldn't like. "What?" Dean asked.

"Well," Sam said as he cleared his throat. "The student that died... I knew her. Or, I should say Jess knew her. They were friends. Jess was an upperclassmen when the student came onto campus. Mariah. Yeah, that was her name. They became really close: They studied together and everything. God... To think that she committed suicide..."

"Suicide?" Dean asked.

"Yeah... says that she managed to sneak a handgun onto campus."

"Um... why the hell was she on campus? It's summer for crying out loud."

"Mariah had no family," Sam said. "She was put into the system for foster children when she was five years old. Never got adopted. Because of that, she usually stayed on campus during holidays and the like."

"Damn," Dean said as he hunched over the table. "That's gotta be rough."

"It was. She never really got over it. Abandonment issues and the like. Every now and then, Jess would try to get her to talk about what happened to her parents. Her family. But, she would always close up tighter than a clam. In the end, Jess just gave up."

"How did she even get the gun on campus? I mean, Stanford has security and stuff like that, right?"

"Yeah," Sam said before he smiled. "But she was resourceful. Very stubborn. And, above everything else, she was smart. If she wanted something, she would get it. No questions asked. But, _why_ she would kill herself... God, I have no idea."

Dean leaned back in his chair and sighed once more. A suicide is never a pretty thing, both because of what it does to the spirit/hunting world, and what it does to the mortal realm. Every time there is a suicide, the whole works (both spiritual and physical) gets clogged up and gets all "screwy." For the physical world, it is traumatic for all parties involved: Everyone is scarred in one form or another. For the spiritual/hunting world, it almost acts like a backed up sewer: Everything starts to spill out of the pipework and desecrate the surrounding areas. And the plumbers are hunters that are in the surrounding areas. Some of the hardest cases Dean ever worked were suicide-related, and he has grown to dread them more so than the normal civilian.

The oldest Winchester looked at his brother and could tell that Sam was troubled by what happened. Dean knew Sam pretty well and could tell that there was one thing one Sam's mind: Why?

"Dean, I know you don't like to do stuff like this, but..." Sam said finally.

"But, you want to go Stanford and see what's going on," Dean said, finishing Sam's statement. "Ghost or no ghost."

Sam smiled slightly before he nodded and said, "Yeah. I would like that."

"Yeah, I figured as much."


	3. Chapter Three

July 17, 2012

Stanford University

"Hi, I'm special agent Brian Young," Dean said as he rose his 'FBI' badge. "This is my partner, Samuel Davids. We are here to investigate the recent death of one of your students. A Mariah Murrey?"

The security guard at the check point was, needless to say, shocked. After all, it isn't everyday that the FBI investigates a suicide, much less the suicide of a student. The fifty some year old man scratched his dark gray hair and said, "Yes, sir. I do have to say, though. I'm surprised that you are here..."

Sam stepped forward and gave a small smile. "Yes, I can understand that. We don't normally do this. However, Ms. Murrey was a personal friend of our supervisor's son. He asked us to take a look into it to make sure that there wasn't any foul play. I'm sure you can understand that."

The security officer with the name tag Kevin nodded. "Yes, sir. I can understand that perfectly. Did you call the head of security before you arrived? If you haven't, I need to contact him so this can be put in the books."

"We would rather if you didn't do that," Dean said as he put on his best smile. "We -"

"We are doing this under the table, Kevin," Sam said. "The FBI doesn't even know we are here. We are doing this as a personal favor to our boss and his son. If you want, you can take our guns. We only ask that you don't record this. Both my partner and I could get into a lot of trouble if you do."

Kevin looked at Sam suspiciously before he said, "That is a mighty odd request, sir."

Sam smiled as he said, "Please. Call me Sam. No formalities here, Kevin. Let's just say that, if you do this, my partner and I will owe you one. Plus, no one needs to know. If anyone asks, you can blame it all on us, saying that we forced you. But, it's up to you. I would be forever grateful if you did decide to help us, though."

It took Kevin several minutes to debate what was put before him. Who could blame him? What Sam and Dean (or Brian Young, as he introduced himself) requested the guard to do was something that could put his career on the line. But, if it is done under the table, and if the FBI is asking you nicely without forcing you to... Who could say no? Certainly not Kevin. Not right now. Not with Sam pulling his killer puppy dog eyed look.

"Alright," Kevin said after several moments of debate. "But, just so we are clear, if anyone asks, you forced me to. Understand?"

Sam nodded. "Understood. Thank you."

"Yeah..." Kevin said. "Here, Mariah's dorm room is this way. Well.. Was this way..."

As they traversed across campus to get to Mariah's dorm room, Sam exchanged small talk with Kevin: What the weather was like where Sam came from. Schooling, life events, etc. It was a perfectly dull and boring conversation. Of course, Dean was bored out of his skull. However, Sam was actually enjoying the small talk with the friendly security guard. And then, he realized something that made him very glad he went by his real name, and not "Phil Johnson" or "Malcolm Tyler."

"Hey, wait a minute," Kevin said as he stopped and stared at Sam. "Don't I know you?"

"Me?" Sam asked, baffled.

"Yeah... Yeah, I do know you. I thought I recognized you! You are the Winchester boy, aren't you. Sam Winchester; the law student, right? You were dating Jessica Moore."

Sam gave a grimace of a smile before he said, "Yeah... yeah, that's me."

"Ha! I wondered what happened to you. Damn, you have grown up to be a fine young man, haven't you? Went and joined the FBI and everything, huh?"

"Yeah," Sam nodded slowly. "After Jess' death, I just didn't want to do law anymore. Decided to do something to help catch bad guys and the like. I'm surprised you recognized me."

Kevin laughed before he said, "It took me a while, but after you work security for twenty some years, you start to remember faces."

"Yeah, I bet."

"Wait, didn't you introduce yourself as Samuel Davids?" Kevin asked.

"Very sharp of you," Sam said. "David is my middle name. I decided to go by Samuel Davids instead of Winchester to leave behind my past. Weird, I know – "

"Nah, I understand."

Dean looked at his brother before he gave a sigh of relief. Dean thought for sure that he was going to have to karate chop this awesome security guard to unconsciousness because of hearing something on the news or what-have-you. That would have put Dean in all sorts of bad moods.

Several more minutes passed before they got to Mariah's dorm. During those minutes, Dean learned much more about this guard than he would have liked. For instance, he has been married three times, has seven children, five grandchildren, loves soccer, hates baseball, and plays bingo every Saturday night with his wife's mother. Sam was entertaining this older man (and was enjoying it, for some strange reason), but Dean was about ready to scoop his eardrums out. It wasn't that he didn't like Kevin: Under normal situations, he would be joining in the small talk. However, Dean just wanted to go in, find what they needed, and get out. No ands, ifs, or buts. Being on a campus (and a rather large campus) makes every instinct the older Winchester has stand on end.

"Here we are," Kevin said. "Room number 18. This is where Mariah lived. Everything is still left untouched. Well, mostly untouched. We are trying to find some next of kin to take her belongings but haven't had any luck as of yet. And, I don't think we will."

Sam nodded. "Thank you, Kevin. You want to wait out here?"

"If you don't mind. I really don't want to go in there... that room makes me all sorts of uneasy."

"What kind of uneasy?" Dean asked, interest perked. "Cold spots? Hair standing on end?"

Kevin gave Dean a 'what-the-hell-are-you-talking-about' look before he said, "No. I just feel sadness. Complete and utter sorrow. Makes me want to just run away and not look back."

The Winchester brothers looked at each other before they thanked Kevin once again and went into the room. The second the door closed, Dean pulled out his EMF reader and said, "Let's get this done and over with so we can get the Hell out of dodge."

Completely ignoring his brother, Sam approached Mariah's desk and looked over everything. Nothing was truly abnormal: Some books about science related topics, information about complicated human body parts. Things that were normal for a nursing major.

The books that caught Sam's eye, however, were the ones about overcoming depression. There were several of them from various authors, which confirmed something Sam was thinking about the whole ride here to Stanford: The depression that Mariah was facing had intensified since he last saw her. Back when Sam and Mariah were classmates, there were several times that he noticed that the depression was starting to get to be to much to handle. But, usually when days like that happened, Mariah talked to Jess about it. Jess even told Sam that she was getting better and, in a few years, would be a completely different person.

_But now, Jess is gone..._ Sam thought.

The youngest Winchester frowned and sighed. "Looks like Mariah was having a lot of problems with depression."

Dean nodded in acknowledgment and continued his sweep of the room. After a few more moments, Dean scowled at the EMF reader as he said, "No EMF readings. Room's clean."

"Take a look at the window sill and all that, Dean. Check to see if a demon popped in or something."

"Yeah, dude. I know the drill. You don't need to micromanage me," Dean said with a stern, yet gentle tone. "Nothing over here."

Sam sat down on the futon in the middle of the room. "This makes no sense, Dean. I don't understand why she would just kill herself."

"Maybe she just couldn't take it anymore," Dean said.

Sam shook his head in disagreement. "No. No, Mariah wouldn't do that. She was an atheist and she knew that this life was the only one she would ever have. She told me, and Jess, on countless occasions that she would never do anything like that because it was pointless and illogical."

Dean sighed as he walked over to join his brother on the futon. "Yeah. But, you know, that was how many years ago? Seven? Eight? People change, Sam. If she wasn't getting the help she needed like she needed..."

The youngest Winchester leaned forward and rested his head on his hands. Why was he so upset about this? Sam couldn't figure it out. After all, Sam didn't know Mariah like Jess did. Sure, he was close enough to her to call Mariah a friend, but still. Why was he so upset about it?

"God, I don't understand. I don't fucking understand it, Dean. It doesn't make any sense. None of it does... It just seems so... _pointless_."

Within moments, Dean noticed that Sam changed. He went from dead set on figuring out what happened to Mariah, to a withering and lifeless form. Dean didn't understand it; it made no sense. And then Dean felt it. He felt it like a wave crashing against his body: Desperation, hopelessness, despondency. Above anything else, complete and total sorrow.

"Sam, we need to go," Dean said with a flat tone.

The youngest Winchester looked at Dean and asked, "Why? What is it?"

"I don't know, but whatever it is, it's something bad. Something bad and powerful."


	4. Chapter Four

_I'm done.  
Forget it. All of it.  
It's all pointless._

These thoughts were echoing in the Winchester's minds insistingly. No matter how hard they tried to focus on something else, the thoughts would come. Like that never ending rash that you can't get rid of no matter how hard you tried, these thoughts were making both Sam and Dean alike itch. It was overwhelming.

_Gun to the head.  
Bullet in the brain pan.  
I'm done. It's pointless. All of it._

"Dammit!" Dean said through a yell as he hit the steering wheel of the Impala. The Impala groaned in response, almost as if it were a sentient being and was feeling Dean's pain.

Sam looked at his brother and asked, "You too, huh?"

"Yeah," Dean said as he nodded. "I just can't stop thinking about it."

"Same here," Sam said as he rubbed his forehead. "Just keep on driving, Dean."

"What the Hell do you think I'm doing, Sam? Just doing a joy ride! For fuck's sake, Sam!"

Sam looked at his brother, bewildered at Dean's rash response. Then, something bubbled up inside of him... something he hadn't felt in a long time. An emotion that really has no name, yet can only be described as severe and overwhelming despondency. He just wanted to reach out and hit something, anything, to make it go away.

Sam slammed his eyes shut and started to take deep breaths. He has to calm down. He has to. This will pass. It WILL pass. He just had to go on about his life and ignore this overwhelming feeling to hurt something. Someone. Anyone.

"I'm sorry," Sam said through a sigh. "I didn't mean anything. I was just trying to be helpful."

Dean sighed as he rubbed his forehead fiercely. "Yeah, I know. I know, Sam. I'm sorry too. It's just... this. These feelings."

"Yeah, I know. I'm feeling it too. Just try to not think about it," Sam said.

Dean huffed in response, fearing what he might say next. Out of all the times that the oldest Winchester had been angry, this was the first time he ever felt rage and anger like this. It was at everyone and everything around him: At Sam, the Impala, the way that the road was paved. Everything was just making Dean more and more angry.

"Do you think this is what Mariah was going through?" Dean asked through slightly gritted teeth.

Sam shrugged. "Maybe. Possibly. To be perfectly honest, I have no idea. It could be that her emotions, etc, were being influenced by a force like what we are going through. Or, it could be that she was having such negative and powerful emotions that she scared the environment around her and left an imprint."

"Yeah, well," Dean said. "Either way, we need to investigate this. Something isn't right. Whether it be that she is haunting that room or there is something else involved, we need to fix this. Good call, Sam."

"Thanks," Sam said. "Wish I was wrong, though. I wish she was murdered by a crazy friend or something. Be a lot easier."

Dean looked at his brother and felt his anger soften slightly. As the Winchesters increased how far away they were from Mariah's dorm room, the depression and feeling that came with it started to simmer down. Now that Dean was able to think clearly, he asked, "You have any idea about who we can call to find out what's going on? I'm pretty sure that she isn't possessing that room. I had no reading on the EMF."

Sam sighed. "I don't know. Under normal conditions, I'd say call Bobby and ask him, but..."

"What about that crazy ass dude that we dealt with a few months ago?" Dean asked, ignoring Sam's previous statement. "Frank Doveroad or something."

"Frank Devereaux. He may know something, but I highly doubt he'll return our call. I'll give him a shot, along with Garth and Stark."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Dean said as he raised a few fingers up in protest. "Garth, yeah I can understand that. Kind of. But Stark? Seriously? Last time we saw him, he and his psychopath wife were trying to kill us."

"Yeah, I know," Sam said as he nodded at Dean's concern. "But, if Garth or Frank don't know what's going on here, we should cash in on that favor with Stark. Might not be the best idea, but it's the only one I have right now. Unless you would prefer that I called Crowley. I can do that instead, if you like."

Dean looked at his brother with a sideways glance and huffed. He didn't like either one of those ideas. However, if Dean had to choose the lesser of two evils...

"Call Stark. He might have an idea if the other two stooges don't."

Sam smiled as he texted Garth, _Hey, it's Sam. Needing your help on a case. Call me ASAP._

Then he realized something. "Wait, did you seriously just huff at me?"

"Yeah," Dean said. "So? Better than smacking something. And that something, most likely, would have been you."

"Wow," Sam said as he chuckled. "Just wow."

Keeping his eyes on the road, and without missing a beat, Dean said, "Bitch."

Sam looked at his brother with another astonished look before he smiled and said, "Jerk."


	5. Chapter Five

July 18, 2012

Some run-down motel off of the beaten path

"Yeah, okay. Thanks Garth," Sam said as he closed his cellphone with a bitter taste of disappointment.

Dean walked out of the bathroom in the run-down hotel that they found off of the beaten path in San Francisco before he said, "Let me guess."

"No luck," Sam said as he leaned back in his chair. "The only thing that both he could think of was a haunting. But, I already ran that course and came back negative on my findings."

"No deaths?"

"Nope. Only Mariah's. Plus, you said that there wasn't any EMF readings, right?"

Dean nodded as he buried his face in a towel. "Yup. No EMF. Asked around while you were on the phone and there has been no unexplained noises, no opening and closing of any doors. Lights are all functioning properly and nothing has gone missing without explanations. No shadows, animals acting all wacky... Hell, people don't even feel like they are being watched by anyone. That campus is as normal as any college campus can be."

Sam looked at his brother with a puzzled look as he asked, "Nothing? Not even cold spots?"

"Nada. Zip. Zilch. Nothing out of the 'ordinary.' Why?"

Sam's brow furrowed as he went deep into thought. That can't be. That's impossible. Even campuses that have no records of death (which is rare to find, needless to say) have reports of cold spots. It's just the way it is. College is the time when emotions run ramped and without check, especially when you just graduated from high school. It is the time when negative energy is attracted to individuals and paranormal activities are reported more so than not.

_And when I was living in that dorm, there were definite sings of a haunting. So why not now? _Sam asked himself.

"Sam?" Dean asked. "Hello? Anyone home?"

"Sorry," Sam said. "I just remembered something. Back when first started in Stanford, I lived in the dorm that Mariah lived in. I tried not to notice, but when I was living there, there were definite signs of a haunting. I did research and concluded that it wasn't anything to worry about: Just old energies from students that were as mischievous in death as they were in life. But, you said that there weren't _any_ signs now?"

Dean shook his head and said, "No. Nothing. Not even the oddly placed cold spot."

"Damn," Sam said after a few moments of silence. "This case is just getting odder by the moment, isn't it?"

"Yeah, no kidding. I'm no expert on college life, but shouldn't there be something there?"

"Yeah. Something. An odd smell, hearing music... There should be something. College campuses are like a buffet table for spirits. All of that angst and negative energy bundled up into one place? It's something that a lot of spirits feed off of when they feel like they are starving. Sure, they may not stay for a true haunting, but there should still be signs that they were there at some point."

Dean nodded as he said, "And there hasn't been anything like that since Mariah's death."

Running his hand through his hair, Sam sighed. "God, I've never heard anything like this, Dean. It's almost like Mariah's death made the ground at Stanford holy or something."

"Yeah..." Dean said. "Makes me wish Bobby was here. He'd know what was going on."

Several minutes went by before either Winchester made a move. This case was one of the most unique cases they had in a while that didn't involve the end of the world as we know it. Mariah's death seemed to purify the grounds of Stanford, which is unlike anything Dean had ever heard of. Sure, he remembered John telling him of some cases in which the ground was purified. For instance, when a saint died they (more often than not) purified the grounds on which they stood moments before their death. But, that was only a fairytale as far as Dean was concerned. There has to be another reason for what they were encountering at Stanford. It's the only logical explanation.

"You call Frank yet?" Dean finally asked.

Sam nodded. "Yeah, he's doing research into it."

"What about Ku Ku Kachu and his psychopathic of a wife?"

"Oh, come on now," a new voice said with a slight British accent. "That's not a nice way to talk about the missus."

Hopping up to their feet as quickly as gravity would allow, the Winchester brothers aimed and steadied their guns at the new arrival. Standing in front of Sam and Dean, in all of his glory, was none other than Don Stark. And, to be perfectly honest, he looked pretty pleased with himself.

"Stark," Dean said as he gritted his teeth. "What are you doing here? Better yet, how the hell did you find us?"

"Oh, calm down, boy," Stark said as if he was addressing an over-enthusiastic dog. "I came here only because Sammy-boy over their asked for my help."

"I asked for your help," Sam said as he tightened his grip on his pistol. "But, I didn't ask you to pop in out of nowhere without warning us ahead of time. Hell, I think I even said to just _call_, not come by and say hi."

"True," Stark said as he smiled. "But where would the fun be in that? Come on, boys. Why don't you get your knickers out of the seemingly permanent twist they are in and calm down. I just came by because I wanted to see my two favorite Winchester brothers. Not here to cause any trouble."

Sam and Dean glanced at each other before they lowered their guns slowly. Sam decided that it would be the best idea to put his sidearm away completely. After all, Stark is a very powerful (and very old) witch that you don't really want to get on the bad side of. Dean, however, kept his gun right at his side like the loyal companion it was. The youngest Winchester rolled his eyes slightly before he asked, "So? Take it you know something? Or are you just out for a leisurely stroll and decided it would be a great idea to find us to say hi?"

"A bit of both," Stark said with a grin.

"How did you find us, anyway?" Dean asked.

Stark scoffed before he said, "Honestly, do you _really_ think that those little hex bags of yours can stop me from finding you? If you truly think that, Dean, you are dumber than I thought."

Dean scowled at Stark but said nothing.

Stark chuckled before he said, "Alright. Down to business. I did manage to find something. Actually, I figured it out while I was out on my 'leisurely stroll.' This Mariah... her death isn't unique."

"It isn't?" Sam asked.

"No. As a matter of fact, the events, or lack thereof, that followed her death are not new to me. Around four hundred years ago, I was asked to advise on a case by a friend of mine that is similar to the one you are working on now. However, just like you, I couldn't figure out what was going on or why the lack of deaths were happening. After that singular death, it seemed that there were no more cases such as that one. However, around 75 years later, another case like the first one I mentioned happened. And, that was just the start. Every century I participated in a case like this but had no luck figuring out what was happening."

"So, this is something that has been happening for several hundred years?" Dean asked as he set his gun down on the table.

"Yes," Stark said. "And it is something that concerns me to this day."

Dean and Sam looked at each other with a puzzled, yet concerned, look on their face. Of course, it stands to reason that Frank and Garth wouldn't know about cases such as the one they were working on (at least, not right away). After all, the circumstances that surround Mariah's death aren't truly odd (at least, not to the general public). However, if this is something that has been happening for four hundred years, and possibly longer, the likelihood of this being a unique case is slim. And, if Stark doesn't know what is going on after being directly involved in cases such as this... that would make any hunter uneasy.

"Oh, just wait," Stark said. "It gets better."

"Great... how could it possibly get any better?" Sam asked as Dean groaned.

"The focal point of the cases I did work on? How the case zeros died? Each and every one of them killed themselves."


End file.
